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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23647159">Kingdom of Dreams</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winddrag0n/pseuds/Winddrag0n'>Winddrag0n</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Deadmeat [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Bottom Will Graham, Consensual Somnophilia, Dream Sex, Journalism, M/M, Top Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:49:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,012</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23647159</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winddrag0n/pseuds/Winddrag0n</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When he sees the headline, for a moment, everything goes white. <i>Murder Husbands on Vacation</i>, it reads. </p>
<p>He and Hannibal had gone to Paris for Will’s birthday, something of a spur of the moment trip. A small gallery of photos sits at the top, of them eating dinner at a restaurant Will is amazed Freddie Lounds was even let inside of. If the romantic mood of the meal wasn’t obvious enough she even managed a photo of them kissing just outside the building.</p>
<p>“We cannot kill her,” Hannibal tells him, a statement so starkly out of character for him that Will <i>laughs</i>. It sounds harsh and strained. </p>
<p>“You gonna stop me?”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>An unexpected request followed by an unexpected development.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Deadmeat [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1514474</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>271</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Wholesome Hannigram</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Kingdom of Dreams</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A couple things. If you're here for the sex, probably don't be, because it's mainly an excuse for the exposition that follows.</p>
<p>And secondly. Without spoiling what it is, I had an absurd amount of fun writing the ending parts of this. Coincidentally, those parts are why this is a fair bit longer than the other entries in this series have been.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I want to ask you to do something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will can tell from the way Hannibal briefly freezes in place that he is expecting something strange. The timing didn’t help- they had just finished dinner and were working on the dishes, something that Hannibal couldn’t make a quick exit from. He was effectively trapped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To me,” Will clarifies. Letting Hannibal squirm would have been fun but detrimental to his ultimate goal. “I want you to fuck me while I’m asleep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal sets down the dish he was drying and then folds the towel into his hands, stopping Will from handing him more clean dishes to dry. “Is there any particular reason you are asking me this now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not really,” Will shrugs. “Maybe I thought I’d get a more honest response if I caught you by surprise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are… good at that, yes,” Hannibal replies slowly. “This is the sort of thing that requires a proper discussion. We can move into the study once the dishes are put away.” His hands unclench and one moves towards Will, palm up. Will sighs and hands him a plate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” he murmurs. “After this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fact that Hannibal does not pour them drinks when they sit down by the empty fireplace is telling. As always, he does not waste any time getting into the meat of the matter. “What aroused your interest in somnophilia?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>doing this,” Will snorts. “Either we’re talking about the finer details of this or you’re telling me no and moving on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I admit, I’m quite curious. Generally speaking, somnophiliacs derive pleasure from taking it from an unconscious individual. A desire to </span>
  <em>
    <span>be </span>
  </em>
  <span>the one being taken advantage of is somewhat unusual.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hannibal,” Will says through gritted teeth. A final warning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal relents, at least for now. “Well then. Is it safe to assume you have a scenario in mind?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In a way.” Will tips his head to the side, drums his fingers along the curve of his jaw. “I don’t want to know when it’s going to happen. At dinner, put something into my drink that will put me into a heavy sleep. Wake up early in the morning and fuck me. Simple.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal smiles, small and sharp. “Could this possibly be an excuse to get me to allow you sleeping medication?” All he earns in the way of a reply is a scathing look. “Is your preferred outcome waking in the middle?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time, Will nods. “The penetration waking me would be ideal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you would like to be the one penetrated.” Hannibal doesn’t look like he’s opposed. But then, somewhat suddenly, his gaze falls away, to the empty fireplace. “I understand that you do not wish to talk about it, but I do not feel entirely comfortable acting out a non-consensual scenario without understanding why.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not non-consensual,” Will argues. “I’m asking you to do this to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A sleeping person is incapable of consent,” Hannibal counters, eyes flicking back to Will’s face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will finds he doesn’t have a response to that. Instead, again, he sighs. “How deep into this are you trying to get?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It seems sudden.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It isn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about it appeals to you? Being taken advantage of?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Will spits out, surprised by the force of his reply. “Uh, sorry. No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal’s eyes narrow slightly as he focuses. “Then being asleep is the draw. Could this be connected to your poor sleeping health?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I… guess?” Will is the one who looks away now. Truthfully, he hadn’t wanted to get into it because the one clear reason he </span>
  <em>
    <span>can </span>
  </em>
  <span>find feels childish. “Historically, sleep has mostly brought bad things with it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nightmares and insomnia.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It would be nice to wake up gasping in a much more pleasant way, I guess.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>catches Hannibal’s attention, and Will can see he’s already on board. “We will need to establish rules.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, like reasons to stop?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A reason is not necessary to stop, and never will be. Though that does bring up another important thing to have.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A safe word.” The words feel strange coming out, heavy and loaded. “Is that really needed?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal shifts in his chair. He actually looks a little put-out. “Of course. We may find it useful going forwards as well, as I expect your curiosity in this direction to only grow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will does want to protest, but in all honesty… Hannibal is probably right. “Any word, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Something you will not say by mistake or use in casual conversation would be ideal. If you need time to think of one-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Winston,” Will says immediately.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It makes Hannibal pause again. “Your former dog.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t like thinking about it and am actively avoiding talking about them. Seems perfect.” The admission comes out oddly cheerful and makes Hannibal frown.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Very well. Winston it is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They talk at length, both to set ground rules and for Hannibal to repeatedly hammer home the seriousness of what Will is asking. Halfway through the fifth time he’s being told that this cannot be reversed once it’s set into motion and he cannot ask Hannibal to stop if he’s totally unconscious Will almost calls the whole thing off entirely out of spite.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he doesn’t. Weeks later, when it’s faded far away into the back of his mind, Will comes home from a busy day of work exhausted. He’s close to dead on his feet already but accepts the wine with dinner nonetheless. They retire early and he’s asleep before his head hits the pillow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Will is staring at Hannibal, and Hannibal is staring back.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The doctor is in the back of an ambulance with his hands slipped inside the patient’s abdomen, reversing the botched organ removal that had been attempted. He hasn’t operated in close to a decade yet he moved so naturally and knew what to do so immediately. Maybe it’s muscle memory, maybe his razor sharp mind is keeping the knowledge usable. It must be. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But maybe it’s practice.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Everything lines up and clicks into place. Hannibal fits the profile to a T, has ingratiated himself with the FBI and even consulted on Ripper cases. It’s perfect. Will hates how perfectly it fits.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Something on his face must give him away because Hannibal cocks his head, cold and scrutinizing. When he moves it’s so quickly that Will nearly misses it. His hands jerk backwards out of the victim’s body which deflates like a balloon, blood and organs rushing out of the impossibly wide opening. Hannibal turns to the far less experienced killer next to him and draws the scalpel across his throat.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>There is a cry as someone rushes towards the ambulance- Jack, who meets a similar end. The blood rushing out of the agent’s neck is what propels Will into movement. His hand moves for his gun but finds a tightly bound holster, the intestines of the man dying on the stretcher coiled around the leather and locking his gun into place. He panics, tries to unwind it and reach his weapon, only to find it coiling up his arm and tangling more of his body together. The blood from the three bodies is filling the area, the pool of blood rising around him. When it reaches his ankles his breathing is rapid and frantic, choking off into gasps as it reaches his shins. He’s going to drown. The blood is going to flow into his lungs and steal away his air. He’s going to drown he’s going to drown he’s going to-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Will.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>His head snaps back up and meets Hannibal’s steady gaze, one bloody arm outstretched towards him. All he can think of to do is take it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hannibal hauls him up into the ambulance, unwrapping the long lines of intestine and freeing Will. “You are alright,” he whispers into the man’s ear. “I have you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Will hooks his hands across Hannibal’s shoulders, clinging like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality. He cannot speak, simply gasps and shudders as Hannibal brings him closer, holds him tightly. A strong hand fits on the back of his neck, thumb rubbing circles at the short curls, murmuring soothing nonsense. The other hand presses against his back to keep him close. Inch by inch, Will calms.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The whispers turn to kisses, starting on his cheek and moving down along his neck. The hand holding him there tilts his head away so Hannibal’s lips can latch on, teeth biting down gently, sucking dark marks into his skin. A particularly harsh bite startles a gasp out of Will of the much more pleasant variety. He can feel the warm buzz of arousal spreading through him and when Hannibal pulls gently on his neck, Will lets his head tip backwards. Nimble fingers undo the buttons of his shirt as Hannibal’s kisses move lower, nipping along his chest and collarbone, teeth grazing his shoulder. With the shirt pushed back and off Hannibal’s mouth ends its journey near an armpit. After only the briefest hesitation, Hannibal lifts Will’s arm upwards and inhales deeply. Will’s breath stutters.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A low growl rips itself out of Hannibal’s throat as he spins them, Will now looking out the back of the ambulance. The blood has not stopped rising. Hannibal sweeps the corpse off the gurney, sending a great many things crashing to the ground, lifting Will up by the hips and seating him on the creaking structure. A hand on his bare chest presses him back down until he lies on his back. Hannibal makes quick work of his belt and pants, pulling everything off of Will in one motion until he lays totally bare. In an equally quick motion his own belt and fly is undone and then he’s pulling Will forwards, lifting his hips up and sliding inside.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Will sighs happily. The glide is perfect, just the right amount of friction as Hannibal thrusts into him. He feels so boneless and pliant, head lolling to the side, unable to muster the energy required to right it. Distantly he sees the blood lapping at the base of the ambulance and flowing over but he simply cannot bring himself to care. Even holding his legs up feels like too much work so it’s a lucky thing that Hannibal has taken it upon himself to wrap them around his waist, using them to hold Will in place as he moves.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The thrusts rattle the gurney as they fuck. Will knows it’s built to hold far worse but he cannot help but imagine it collapsing, sending them crashing to the floor of the ambulance into the blood rising below. One of his arms slips away and falls to the side and down, fingertips dipping into the warm liquid. It sends a shiver through his frame. He should tell Hannibal, ask him to pull the limb back up, but the man is fucking him with a single-minded purpose now, to the degree that Will think he may not stop even of the ambulance went down in flames around them. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It feels good, like it always does. The muted heat of Hannibal inside of him, angled just right to brush against his swollen prostate, fucking deep inside. How can he not notice? The blood is up and covering his wrist now. It even moves with the motions, little ripples of what can’t quite be called waves forming and breaking. He wishes he could move his head, wishes he could see only Hannibal and not the rising tide around them. If he looked, would those reddish eyes be filled with the same blood that threatens to envelop them?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The pace increases but all sound dims and fades away, replaced by the roaring of ocean waves. He feels nothing but the heat building inside of him and the warmth traveling up his arm, around his elbow now. Despite the fact that the blood must be somewhere around his thighs now Hannibal does not falter, the somewhat unsteady movements nothing but an indicator that the man must be nearing his own orgasm. It’s lapping at the sides of the gurney now. When Hannibal comes inside of his body, will it be red?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It rises, pooling around his body, Will’s body bucks, his head rolls back upwards, and when he opens his mouth to cry out his lungs are filled with blood.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Will wakes to his body trembling, pulses of pleasure running through him. Sound returns first, a heavy breathing filled with gasps, the heaving indicating an only recently halted exertion. Something is inside of him- presumably Hannibal. This is confirmed when he cracks his eyes open and sees the man leaning over him, hair askew, mouth hanging open slightly as he pants. The gasps, he’s realizing, are from him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you awake?” Hannibal asks, starting to regain his composure. They’re both covered in sweat and the scent of sex hangs in the air. He leans back, legs folded under him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Will manages to reply, though it’s difficult. His words feel choked in his throat. He is able to prop himself up on his elbows, looking down at the position they are in. Hannibal is kneeling with his legs spread, Will pulled flush against him, his own legs spread and draped over Hannibal’s. “Really?” The words are coming much easier now. “You could have done anything you wanted and you went with missionary.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It is a position you seem resistant to, one that exposes you greatly. Perhaps that is why.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That explains the curtains being open, letting in the morning light to illuminate the room. Will looks too close towards the sun and groans. “Woke up a little late.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal finally pulls back and out of him, pulling off the condom to tie off and throw away. “The drug was more potent than I expected. I will need to experiment further with the dosage.” A pause. “If this is something you would like to revisit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will sits up and yawns. “Sure. Definitely had an interesting dream.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mentioning that was an obvious mistake, one he tells himself he only made because he was so groggy. Hannibal’s gaze is razor sharp. “Oh? What was it you dreamed of, Will?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The dogs,” he says quickly, a terribly timed lie based on the look on Hannibal’s face. “No, shit, that’s inappropriate. I, uh. Fine. Shower first?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shower first turns into shower during, as Hannibal has never been one to let things go. He’s washing Will’s hair when he asks again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, fine. You remember that case, with the organ harvester Jack thought was you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You never agreed with that particular theory, if I recall,” Hannibal murmurs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That moment, when we caught him. He was mid surgery and you stepped in to save the man who was supposed to be his next victim. I looked at you, and then I knew.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A dream where you uncovered the truth far earlier.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will turns to face the man, Hannibal’s hands not even pausing. “I… think that’s when I knew, all along. I just didn’t want to believe it was true.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That makes the hands hesitate. Hannibal’s treatment of Will, particularly leading up to his incarceration, was something of a sore subject. It almost seemed like Hannibal genuinely felt remorse towards his actions, which was either a convincing act or hilarious. “Fitting, as I came to a realization of my own that night. One that was both equally and unfortunately ignored.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s enough of a thread that Will wants to pull it until everything unspools. “That you were… interested in me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal looks down at him, fond and a touch amused. “Make no mistake, Will. I have been interested in you since the first moment you stormed into Jack’s office and refused to look me in the eye. I suppose it was the first time I truly considered you as something… more.” It’s obvious he doesn’t want to finish the thought so Will does it for him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As something more than a way to pass the time.” Hannibal’s fingers tightening in his hair are the only confirmation he needs. “Sure didn’t stop you from nearly killing me and sending me to jail.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The incident with Budge only reinforced the idea. It made you a threat to everything I had built, so it was only natural that I remove you from the equation.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And then you visited me in prison the first chance you got.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, well, I never said it was successful. In the end I missed your presence far too much to continue with the plan.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will steps back, both to stand under the spray and rinse his hair and also in disbelief. “Wait, hold on. Are you saying you exonerated me because you </span>
  <em>
    <span>missed me?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal looks, entertainingly, mildly confused. “What on earth did you think the reason was?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They swap places, Will running his fingers through Hannibal’s hair to flush out the shampoo. “At the time I just assumed you wanted to fuck with me some more. I guess I never really thought of it past that point.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were not entirely wrong.” Will laughs at the unexpectedly crude joke. “The rest of your dream, Will?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Anyways. You noticed that I figured it out, made pretty quick work of everyone else there. Their blood rose around us like the tide as you fucked me on the gurney seconds after throwing the corpse off of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will is pressed back against the tile, mouth falling open as Hannibal kisses him. It probably would not be appropriate to laugh into it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As usual, Hannibal finishes first and leaves to start on breakfast. After wiping the condensation away Will scowls at his reflection in the mirror- if the very obvious marks along his throat are any indication, Hannibal had found a way to take advantage nonetheless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s intending to rip into him about it as they’re impossible to hide, but when he comes into the kitchen to find a simple breakfast and Hannibal staring at his tablet with a blank look on his face, his blood runs cold. “Is it…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal blinks and looks up towards Will. “Nothing quite so serious, for the moment. It is still a problem we will need to address.” He hands the tablet to Will.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If it was even possible, Will now has even </span>
  <em>
    <span>less</span>
  </em>
  <span> of an idea of what to expect, though the garish header of the Tattlecrime website is not entirely surprising. When he sees the headline, for a moment, everything goes white. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Murder Husbands on Vacation, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it reads. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He and Hannibal had gone to Paris for Will’s birthday, something of a spur of the moment trip. A small gallery of photos sits at the top, of them eating dinner at a restaurant Will is amazed Freddie Lounds was even let inside of. If the romantic mood of the meal wasn’t obvious enough she even managed a photo of them kissing just outside the building.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We cannot kill her,” Hannibal tells him, a statement so starkly out of character for him that Will </span>
  <em>
    <span>laughs. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It sounds harsh and strained. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You gonna stop me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Hannibal says simply. “We are not on the run. This will not send the authorities to our door. Do not forget that in their eyes, we have done nothing wrong.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not the authorities I’m worried about,” Will spits out. “As much as I hate her fucking guts, Lounds is good at her job. There’s a strong chance she’ll eventually find us and then something much worse than the police will be knocking on our door.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The media,” Hannibal elaborates. He takes back the tablet when Will hands it to him. “If you are worried about Lounds, perhaps we can cut her off before she begins her search in earnest?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Will grins. “Please, let’s do that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal frowns at him. He seems to be doing that a lot, lately. “That was not meant literally. Sit and eat, vicious boy.” He manages to make it sound like a compliment. Coming from Hannibal, it probably is.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will eats his eggs as aggressively as possible, but he does allow Hannibal to expand on the plan he is forming. “If we give her something she wants, she may be willing to leave us alone afterwards.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what, some sort of interview?” Will speaks as he’s chewing, something he knows drives Hannibal </span>
  <em>
    <span>insane. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Like what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She is clearly still interested in the truth of what has happened. We can allow her to clear the air.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything we tell her is going to be at least fifty percent lies, you know. Can we even pull that off?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lounds has helped us in this manner before, if you recall. While it was reported as an anonymous tip, she is aware that it was me who told her of the exoskeleton in your closet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not the worst plan in the world. “We’d need to move fast or she’ll get suspicious. If we wait a week to contact her it’ll be obvious we were spending time coming up with a convincing story.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Luckily we already have.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will stops eating and sets his silverware down on his plate. “Are we going to be raking Jack over the coals again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We would need to. Would that stop you from doing this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will thinks, and thinks and </span>
  <em>
    <span>thinks</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “No,” he eventually replies. “I’ll contact her tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the evening, he sends Freddie Lounds an email from a throwaway account. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We need to talk, </span>
  </em>
  <span>is all it says, signed </span>
  <em>
    <span>W.G. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Underneath that is his personal cell number.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Will is woken up by the shrill ringing of his phone. Despite the overwhelming urge to let it go to voicemail, he fumbles for the item and picks up the call. “What.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is a long moment of silence on the other end of the line. “Well I’ll be damned,” Freddie Lounds laughs. “It was real after all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal is sitting up beside him, listening to the conversation. “It’s three in the morning, Lounds.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you’re still in France. Got time to talk?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d rather sleep. Can you call back later?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only if you want another article about your European honeymoon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll honey your moon,” Will growls, and Hannibal immediately leaves the bed. Whether it’s to hide his laughter or out of disgust Will isn’t really sure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll assume that was supposed to be a threat. Not really on the top of your game, are you, Graham? Do you want to talk or not?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fucking. Christ, yeah, we can talk. Let me go get coffee or something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal, it turns out, had left to make that very thing. He offers Will a mug of it once he makes it down the stairs. “Thanks,” Will murmurs, taking a sip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Freddie, who he had nearly forgotten was on the line, pipes up. “You’re really living with him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, we both decided independently to move to the same place in Europe and go on dates in Paris. Hold on, let me put you on speaker.” He does as much and sets his phone on the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, Doctor Lecter,” Freddie greets.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lounds,” is all Hannibal says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m assuming you contacted me to offer something. If it was simple threats Graham would have done that on his own.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You would be correct.” Hannibal sips at his own coffee and nods at Will to continue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Two interviews,” Will says. “One from each of us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How much?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We don’t need money,” Will huffs. “Don’t try to tell me that you don’t know how much of that Hannibal already has.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is sounding more and more like a trap, you know. If it isn’t money, what </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>you want?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To be left alone,” Hannibal answers, voice almost soft. He’s doing a good job of sounding tired and upset.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Basically that,” Will agrees. “We can give you the ending to your story, and in return you leave us the hell be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence as Lounds thinks. “It still sounds too good to be true. That’s really all you’re getting out of this? You want to get out of the spotlight that badly?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would we have left so abruptly and traveled so far otherwise?” Hannibal points out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>More silence. “Weirdly, that makes sense. Let’s talk details.” Across from him at the table, Hannibal smiles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They arrange the interviews to be in Marseilles, two separate locations, held consecutively. Neither man is allowed to sit in on the other’s, a clear effort to try and catch them off guard in a lie. It doesn’t work. As part of the deal, they neither confirm nor deny that they are living in the city where they meet, and she withholds all information about their current location. They even allow her a photo each, posed carefully to be as nondescript as possible, revealing nothing in the background. She seems a bit surprised by how smoothly it all goes, though Will supposes he can’t entirely blame her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After they return to their house on the cliffs, Will finds himself sitting on the edge, staring out into the ocean. The wind whips around him and brings with it the salty sting of the water. When Hannibal joins him he brings a jacket with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you think it’ll work?” he asks, slipping on the warm coat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course.” Hannibal gazes out into the sea and they sit there for several long minutes, listening to the waves crashing against the rocks. “What are you thinking about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All the people we’ve destroyed to get here,” Will admits, voice low. “I can’t decide if the ones we’ve left alive are worse than the ones that died.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re thinking about Abigail.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hits him, sharp and accurate, an arrow burying into his heart. “Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I… often regret the things I had done to you, both directly and indirectly. Abigail may be the thing I regret the most.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How-” Will bites off the words, can feel them trying to catch in his throat. He waits and tries again. “How could you do that to her? She was- she was our </span>
  <em>
    <span>daughter, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Hannibal. You killed her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes a while for Hannibal to reply. “At the time, it felt necessary. The final nail in the coffin.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Were you trying to make me hate you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Even now, I’m still unsure,” Hannibal murmurs. It’s nearly swallowed by the waves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will pulls the coat tighter around himself like a shield. “What did you do with her body?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal turns and looks at him now, catches his gaze. “Do you truly wish to know?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And unexpectedly, Will has an answer for that. “No,” he whispers, breaking the gaze and turning back towards the ocean. He leans to the side, tilting until he can rest his head on Hannibal’s shoulder. The other man’s arm moves to curl around his shoulders. “Can you tell me something, Hannibal?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you regret it because you killed someone who could have been family or because you’ve seen how it destroyed me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I regret it because of what it did to you, emotionally and otherwise.” While the reply had been immediate, Hannibal waits before continuing to speak. “Does that upset you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Will sighs, relaxing into Hannibal’s grip. “Because you finally trust me enough not to lie to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They watch the sky darken over the sea. When he glances upwards, Will sees Hannibal truly, genuinely smiling in a way he’s never seen before.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Beyond Closed Doors: A Thrilling Conclusion to the Murder Husbands Saga, part 1</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear reader, you would not believe the week I’ve had. I anticipated some pushback from my last article about famous definitely-not-a-psychopath FBI consultant Will Graham, but never could have guessed it would come from the man himself. Graham contacted me less than 24 hours after the piece went up. I would say he’s matured as a person, because instead of vile threats he made me an offer. In short- I conducted two interviews, one with the star of the show and another with his partner, Doctor Lecter. And yes, they are in fact dating, sorry to say. Lecter is off the market for good if his interview is any indication. To those of you who had a taste for something more unstable- you’ll just have to put out a personal ad like the rest of us.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>As part of our agreement, I will be offering no information of their whereabouts. They made it very clear that all they want is to live out the rest of their days in peace, and after speaking to them? I can’t exactly blame them for it. What I discovered was a tale of misconduct running so deep that it’s an outright embarrassment the FBI let it get this far. One man’s life was almost entirely destroyed, and ultimately? I feel like I owe Graham an apology.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The interviews will be uploaded in two parts, with Lecter’s today and Graham’s going up next week. I’m sure you’ll find them as illuminating as I have.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>[Photograph of Hannibal, dressed in a red sweater and khaki slacks. His hair is unstyled but he somehow looks as imposing and put-together as always.]</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hannibal Lecter asked to meet in a cafe. He already had a drink when I arrived and very kindly waved over a waiter to take my order when I sat down. The coffee, by the way, was excellent.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Freddie Lounds: As considerate as always, I see. You’re not dressed how I was expecting.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hannibal Lecter: Ah, yes. The suit would sure have stood out here.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Is that really all?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: [laughs] Will seems to prefer the casual look. He might be rubbing off on me.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: So the two of you are… involved?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: Your remark about how the two of us eloped was closer to the truth than you may have expected.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Do psychiatrists generally start dating their patients?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: Officially, he was never my patient.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Convenient for the FBI. It wouldn’t look good if their shiny new field agent was regularly seeing a psychiatrist.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: I would encourage FBI agents to seek therapy, in many cases. Their jobs can be deeply traumatic.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: But your job was to clear him for active duty.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: It was. Truthfully, I regret that I did.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Are you saying Jack pressured you into giving him the all clear?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: I stand by my initial decision. What I regret is what the field work did to Will.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: So you feel responsible.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: Was I not?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Then why didn’t you take it back later?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: I tried. Since I was only helping officially that very first visit, everything else I told them beyond that point was treated more or less as a suggestion.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: To clarify, when you say ‘them’ are you speaking about Jack Crawford?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: I reported directly to Jack, though I will say that the board above him had a clear hand in propagating this as well.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: So to summarize, you were asked to continue seeing Graham as a patient and give updates on his mental health, which were essentially ignored.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: That is correct. It became apparent that what Jack Crawford wanted was for me to glue Will back together and ship him back out into the field.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: You’re saying that he wasn’t actually interested in any sort of treatment for Will Graham, just to continue using him on cases, potentially at the expense of his health?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: There was no ‘potentially’ about it. Recovery has been a long and slow process for Will to undo what had been done to him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: And what exactly has been done to him?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: He was pushed so far beyond his breaking point that it’s a miracle he did not die. With his unique empathetic abilities, he was forced to live inside the heads of those who were deeply, deeply disturbed. It affected him greatly.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Could you tell me more about this empathy of his?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: You would be far better off asking Will. I can only speculate about what he truly feels.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Would he even tell me?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: [laughs] Maybe if you asked nicely.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: So if this was so bad, why didn’t you back out of it entirely?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: I was very invested in Will’s well-being. Essentially, I believed that even if I could not pull him away from this work, I could try my best to help him mentally.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Did it work?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: His encephalitis made it all but impossible.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: To sum it up- he was already fragile from how far he was pushed in his job and the infection in his brain meant recovery wasn’t an option.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: I do not think fragile is the right word. Will is remarkably strong, and the fact that he survived this at all is proof of that.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Do you think he was in danger of dying?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: Undoubtedly. I have treated many people in a tailspin and Will was inches from crashing into the ground.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Was Jack Crawford aware of this?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: If he was, he was ignoring it. One thing that cannot be denied is that even in the midst of a breakdown, Will still got results.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Until they decided he was the Chesapeake Ripper.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: Ah. Yes, I suppose that screwed things up a bit. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: He sure was quick to accuse you, wasn’t he?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: He was. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Any idea why?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: I do fit the profile, though keep in mind the one who made that profile was Will himself. Personally I believe that when he was delusional to the point of being disconnected from reality, some connections were made that should not have been. Combined with his skewed self-image, he became convinced that I was a serial killer hell-bent on his destruction.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Could you elaborate on that last comment?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: On his self-image?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Yes.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: To put it briefly… his entire life, he has had to deal with people attempting to use him for his unique abilities. It was easier to accept that I was trying to destroy his life than to accept that someone genuinely cared about him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Ouch.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: That has been a tough one to untangle.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: The whole double agent thing, when Crawford tried to get him to pretend everything was fine and secretly dig up dirt on you. Did you play along with it?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: Not exactly. As before, I only tried to help him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: What finally triggered the vanishing act?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: I got through to him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Anything in particular that did it?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: He had been growing increasingly unsure of what he was doing, largely because he was discovering, of course, absolutely nothing in the way of evidence as there was nothing to be found. When he realized what my feelings were he was already wavering.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Are you saying you got through to him with the power of love?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: In a very roundabout way, I suppose. More accurately, once he realized that was genuine, everything else unraveled.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: And then the abrupt departure.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: It was his idea, actually. We were trying to think of a way to extract him from this mess when he suggested simply burning it all behind us. Not literally, I must stress. The fire at my practice was a very unfortunate coincidence, unless the Ripper decided to dabble in arson.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: That’s the big question, isn’t it? Who is the Ripper?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: You are far from the only one who wants to know.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Do you believe that it really was the Ripper that framed Will Graham?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: Before we get into this, I want to make it clear that everything I have to say on the subject is nothing more than conjecture.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Of course.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: I do believe it was, yes. It is the option that made the most sense.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Why do you think that he did?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: Will was actually correct here, most likely. He was in a unique position to potentially uncover the Ripper’s identity and the delusions made him an easy target to frame.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: So he was eliminating a threat and clearing his name all at once.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: Essentially.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Then why take it all back?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: My guess is he got sick of someone else getting the credit for his work. Serial killers are quite often narcissists, after all.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Was that a factor in why you left?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: Somewhat. At the very least, Will seemed to be on the Ripper’s radar, which is a dangerous thing to be. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Going back to your abrupt departure… you had a very established life in Baltimore, yet you abandoned it at the drop of a hat. Why is that?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: Because it was the only way to get Will to safety, and because he asked me to.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: He means that much to you?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: He does.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Wow. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: Wow indeed.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Were you ever afraid this would hinder your attempted treatment of him?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: While I was… less than professional, I am able to compartmentalize. As it turns out, he responds quite poorly to standard therapy. My bias ended up working to our advantage.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Are you still working as a psychiatrist?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: I will not answer that.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: I think that about does it for my questions. I have to thank you for being so willing to answer.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: Of course. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Thank you for your time, Doctor Lecter.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>HL: Please, call me Hannibal.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Part two will go up June 20th! Stay tuned for the final piece of this saga!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Beyond Closed Doors: A Thrilling Conclusion to the Murder Husbands Saga, part 2</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m going to let this interview speak for itself, mostly. If you missed the first part, read it </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>here!</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> Without further ado, the moment you’ve all been waiting for… an interview with Will Graham himself!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>[Photo of WIll Graham, dressed in a nice coat and charcoal slacks. His hair is slicked back in a stylish manner.]</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Graham asked to meet in a park initially, which I turned down due to worries about noise pollution. We ended up in a different cafe with equally good coffee.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Freddie Lounds: You’re dressed more like Hannibal than Hannibal was.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Will Graham: Don’t call him Hannibal.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: He asked me too.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Of course he did. Sorry.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Are you protective of him?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Intensely.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: That’s a nice coat.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Yeah, uh. [coughs] Hannibal bought it for me. I’m not great with fashion, which I’m sure comes as a huge surprise to you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: You’re already a lot nicer than you generally are when we speak.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: I… wasn’t well then. Plus, I asked you to be here, and you’re not trying to contaminate a crime scene.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: When you say you weren’t well, could you expand on that?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Well. My empathy made me good at my job, but it’s not healthy to stay inside the minds of the literal scum of the earth for so long. That plus the encephalitis made the lines between delusion and reality all but erased.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: No one knows about how your empathy works. Care to explain?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Not really.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Please?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: He told you to ask nicely, didn’t he.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: He may have.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Alright, I can- I can give you the cliff notes, okay?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: More than okay.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: It’s… extremely easy for me to understand how people are thinking and feeling with almost nothing to go on. I can then sort of step into that mindset and figure out how they would react in any situation. Working with the FBI, I could look at a kill, how the person was killed, and figure out why.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Is that possible?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Apparently. It’s not infallible- some things are simply unpredictable, and just understanding why someone did something doesn’t always help with figuring out what they’re going to do next.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: So seeing dark things started to get to you?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Honestly? Not really, I’ve been pretty thoroughly desensitized. The problem was that it lingered.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: You stepped inside the minds of these murderers and then couldn’t quite get back out of it?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Essentially.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: What made it so easy to do for killers in particular?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Oh, it has nothing to do with being a killer. It’s that easy for everyone. I was only being paid to do it for killers.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Couldn’t you have made a killing as a psychic?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>[thirty seconds of silence]</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: I can tell from your expression that you’re not a fan of that suggestion.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: No, I’m not.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Well if it’s that easy for everyone, is there anyway for you to demonstrate?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Sure. I’m guessing you want me to do you?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Yes.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Okay, uh, give me a second to…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>[Readers, what happened next gave me chills. His entire demeanor, down to his posture, changed to match mine exactly. He even crossed his leg the same way I had mine.]</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Well, right now you’re trying to decide if you should go for a second coffee, since you also met Hannibal in a cafe. You should, by the way, this place is fantastic. You’re trying your best to appear relaxed but you’re actually pretty anxious, even a little bit afraid? You were definitely scared of me at some point and even though logically you know you have no reason to be, you still can’t entirely shake it. It’s also quite exciting, this will definitely be a big hit, and it’s an exclusive to boot. You’ve never been to [location removed] and you’re planning on heading to [location removed] after this, somewhere you’ve always wanted to visit since you were a child. It’s important to you, a fond memory shared with… a grandparent, likely? Someone who was far kinder to you than your parents were. You [significant amount of personal information removed]</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>[I have no real way to prove this, but I can tell you that all of what he told me was 100% accurate, including things I’ve never told anyone. You’ll just have to believe me. Oh, and I ordered the coffee.]</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Okay, you can stop.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Ah, shit, I said our location, didn’t I. Can you redact that?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Of course.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Thank you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: That was… scary, honestly.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Yeah, most people call it scary.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Most people?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Hannibal called it beautiful.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Let’s move on. Hannibal had much to say about Jack Crawford.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: [laughs] I bet he did.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: How do you feel about the man?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Honestly… I can’t fully blame him for his actions. He was obsessed with catching the Ripper and had every right to be.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Why is that?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Miriam Lass was his trainee. He took it hard, and personally. Blamed himself.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: So you’re saying that when the Ripper became involved, he doubled down. How do you excuse his behavior before that point?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Honestly? I don’t. I got him results, so I can understand why he did what he did, but I can’t forgive him for it now that I… can see what was happening.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: And what was happening?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: He treated me like a tool, not a person. He was only concerned for my well being if it affected my ability to catch him killers.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Do you think he just wanted to look good for his superiors?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: No, definitely not. He genuinely wanted to save people. He had just gotten to the point where the ‘how’ was less important.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: After you were released from jail he tried to use you as a double agent. Do you feel like he was pressuring you to get results regardless of the truth of the matter?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: I think it was closer to him wanting it to be true so badly that he believed it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Hannibal said something similar about you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: I wouldn’t say I wanted it. The betrayal, even though it wasn’t real, hurt me. Severely.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Has it affected your ability to trust Hannibal?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Um, it did for a while. I do trust him, now.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: How do you stop yourself from doubting him, after everything?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: There are… moments, but they pass. Objectively speaking, he only had things to lose by helping me. Everything he did was at great personal loss for himself. And yet here we are.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Let’s backtrack. You said that when you assume someone’s point of view, it lingers. Is that true for everyone as well?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Yeah. They all slide off just as fast, it’s just a lot more unpleasant to experience when the mindset I assume is pretty much evil. The real kicker was the brain infection, though. It made it almost impossible to shrug something off. It sort of… covered me, like an oily film. There were times when I went into one crime scene still wearing the shadow of the last one. Let me tell you, two at once? Not fun. Well, [personal information removed]</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Excuse me, Mr. Graham.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Sorry. Freddie brain, you know how it is.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: I guess I do.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Any more questions?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: It sounds like this was a pretty traumatic experience for you. How did you get through it?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: That’s an easy one- Hannibal.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: If you could go back, would you do anything differently? Tell yourself to give Crawford the middle finger and never look back?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: I don’t think I would. I’d be too afraid I’d end up on a path that would take me away from him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Away from Hannibal?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Yeah.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Wow.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Don’t react like that. It’s embarrassing. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: One last thing. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Shoot.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: We know Hannibal obviously isn’t the Ripper, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t, in some way, after you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: What, Hannibal?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: The Ripper.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: I was going to make a joke about how Hannibal was after something after all but you’ve ruined it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Sorry.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Anyways. Yeah, that’s a part of why we left. Not exactly keen on being turned into Saint Sebastian or something along those lines.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Are you worried he’ll track you down because of this?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: They. And not really. If they were that attached they’d have come looking already, and knowing them, probably would have found us.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: What if they were just waiting for the right piece of information?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: And they’re going to come after us now?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>FL: Exactly.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WG: Then I’d like to see them fucking try.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>There you have it. One of the most revealing things about these interviews was something I can’t even share with you directly- their demeanor. Hannibal was relaxed, and Will? He seemed like a normal, well adjusted human. The difference was so great I almost couldn’t believe I was talking to the same man who has threatened to kill me on multiple occasions. I am happy to report that he still retains his dark sense of humor, at least. The only conclusion I can draw from that is that what they’ve told me is the truth- Will Graham was pushed so far it qualifies as abuse, and honestly? I’m comfortable calling him the victim in all of this. Out of respect for both our arrangement and on a personal level, I will not be pursuing their story any further. The FBI and Jack Crawford, though? That’s a different story.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll say one more thing to them before I go- I know the two of you aren’t married yet, but when it does finally happen (and trust me, readers, with the way the two of them spoke about each other, it’s only a matter of time)- consider these articles my wedding gift. And to Will Graham, specifically- I owe you an apology. You were going through a very difficult time and my articles only made it worse. I do regret the pain I’ve caused you and can only hope clearing the air like this is enough to make it up to you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If you ever want to talk to me, you know where to find me!</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cOgdJ20a4z4">RAM - Kingdom Of Dreams (Original Mix)</a>
</p></blockquote></div></div>
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